A Little Bit Magic
by KnightGuardian
Summary: Wild and heady and dangerous with an aftertaste of honey…that was magic as Arthur would know it.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin._

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The silence of his chambers was deafening in the aftermath of hours filled with friendly banter and lust ridden gasps, the rhythmic slip slide of sweaty skin. And even now he could hear his name echoed off the stonewalls, _Arthur_. It was all he could hear.

His name mouthed from soft lips sounding like _love, loyalty, forever_.

Arthur lay back in bed indulging himself a few moments to gather his wits, blond hair lay damp against the nape of his neck, lips still pleasantly stinging from fervent kisses.

No one had ever kissed him that thoroughly before, either he hadn't allowed it or they hadn't dared.

The bed was a rumpled mess the likes of which only a good tumble created as the linens lay haphazardly across it bunched at his hips. They were in the middle of a warm summer and yet he felt cold, sort of hollowed out, which made no sense.

How could he miss fumbles kisses that were more enthusiastic than talented, and yet warmed a spot in his chest that had long since been empty?

How could he miss the tangle of dark hair that more oft than not resembled a badly sheared mop even as he carded his hand though it…how he could miss a tangle of limbs sprawled across his body, _bony hips, and sharp angles,_ was beyond him, but he did. Arthur's lips still thrummed with the memory of magic, feeling its phantom touch, its cloying taste bittersweet in his mouth.

If ever he had imagined what magic might taste like – which he hadn't of course because that would be _wrong_ and _dangerous_ and _treason_ – then this would be it exactly.

Wild and heady, it tasted like power, dizzying and delirious it had felt like falling and flying both, it had felt like wining a battle and pulling away had felt like the loss of one.

Wild and heady and dangerous with an aftertaste of honey…that was magic as Arthur would know it.

Maybe all sorcerers taste like honey and power, and maybe it was just Merlin, he had no way of knowing.

It wasn't many-a sorcerers or sorceress' for that matter, he'd snogged in the royal bed, or anywhere at all, and wasn't likely to in the near future either – he'd rather not risk the unseemly life of a toad.

Merlin had thrown a fit worthy of Morgana, so he was angry enough to do it too, _best not to risk that just now._

Merlin and magic, funny how those were two words he'd never thought to hear in the same breath, and by funny he meant completely odd and slightly unsettling.

Merlin who bumbled his way about the castle corridors with his complete lack of deference, Merlin who called him Arthur as often as he called him Sire.

That Merlin, _his Merlin_, was a sorcerer.

Those two words, Merlin and sorcerer, were like comparing a sword and a stone, they had no business sitting in the same sentence and yet lo-and-behold, they did. Not unlike prince and peasant turned manservant, who had no business sharing a bed. But they _were_, and they _did_ and now that he could see it, taste it, it _fit_.

Merlin and Arthur, their names fit like the pitter-patter of fate, they rang like destiny in the way Achilles and Patroclus were two of the same sword. It was strange to think of Merlin like that, as the other side of his blade.

Imagining it now Arthur could see how things could be, the good they might do – if Merlin wasn't as wretched a sorcerer as he was a manservant, because that would be disastrous forget Nimueh.

Merlin would kill him first, by accident. And wouldn't that be one for the history books?

'_Here lieth Arthur Pendragon slain by his manservant whom accidentally lit him on fire.'_

Merlin had nearly caught him on fire once, and he's fairly certain there hadn't even been magic involved, Arthur wasn't sure weather to laugh or pull up the covers over his head and bemoan his ill-fortune.

Fire would be the least of his problems if news of what passed between he and Merlin ever reached Morgana's ears, and he had no doubt she had eyes and ears in the castle of which he knew nothing about, then when word finally reached her it would no doubt go something like this:

'_My lady, my lady! The prince has just shagged his innocent manservant senseless, his lips are swollen red with kisses and his clothes are all rumpled, even more than usual my lady! The prat sent him storming from the room, probably kicked him out, the poor thing!'_

Of course she wouldn't have noticed Merlins lips, it was hard to get around his sick-y out ears to notice the cupids bow of his mouth made for smiling those daft grins and…Arthur coughed, returning to his diatribe.

And of course she wouldn't have called him a prat only Merlin ever called him that.

_Oh yes, if Morgana ever hears of this I'll have to give up sleep for good. _

_Which is a pity. I rather liked sleeping, and so what if some nights I dream about my idiotic manservant and his perfect, pale skin and his too big ears. __Dreams of nipping them and whispering filthy things the likes of which he's only imagined until he blushes red, and investigating how far down that blush goes…dreams of the throbbing pulse at his neck and how easy it would be to bite down…_

He was Crown Prince of Camelot. He was one of the greatest warriors in Albion, he could dream about whatever, or whomever he bloody well wished! If that happened to be Merlin, well then whom but he would ever know?

Arthur tried out the words, softly as though afraid some spy stood in the shadows of his chamber waiting for him to make the ultimate betrayal.

"Merlin is a sorcerer."

The words were heavy on his tongue, as though they to held power and wished not to be said aloud. As soon as the words died eaten up by the silence of his chamber Arthur shuddered to remember all the times he had lived when everything in nature said he should not, to realize that it was Merlin putting down his foot and saying no, was enough to give him pause.

_How many times had Merlin put his head on the chopping block? _

Arthur didn't know for sure but he had a hunch that it would be more than he'd care to know. His father would say that he came first as heir apparent, but Arthur questioned this, hadn't others the same right to life? If he was another mans son, a man who was not king would his father say the same?

Hunith loved her son as though he was a great king already; Gwen's father treated her like a queen, and her smiles gold. If in some strange world Uther were not king and he no longer heir apparent, would his life still be so much more important?

These were thoughts Arthur blamed Merlin for, before him he'd never considered such matters. He'd accepted things as they were.

If his father was right, and he was the king after all, then servants were only there to serve their betters and live their insignificant lives. If that were truly so then must they do such _significant _things that make him step back and rethink everything he'd been taught?

According to Uther sorcery was all things wicked and wile.

Sorcery is all that was ugly and ill hearted in Albion and beyond.

Why then did not Arthur see these things when he looked upon Merlin?

He looked at Merlin and saw a peasant boy saving the runt of the litter from drowning, at risk of bodily harm from the stable master, he saw the boy willing to out himself to the king to save a dear friend – nothing in his actions bespoke evil.

He was annoying and reckless, when he saw a wrong he tried to right it – or most often he badgered Arthur until _he_ did so.

He was foolish and naïve, a country boy who still hadn't learned to bite his tongue. But he was always loyal; he'd proven that much already.

What was sorcery but word, a word that his father gave more power when he made it feared, common folk shuddering at the mere utterance?

Merlin was foolish and reckless and loyal, and it just so happened he was a sorcerer too. While Arthur couldn't dismiss such knowledge out of hand, he also knew he would not stand to see the boy burned at the pyre.

Of course none of that had anything to do with the fact that he Arthur Pendragon Heir Apparent of Albion was smitten with his manservant.

Arthur was not one to wax poetic, so when he started thinking at random times 'Merlin eyes are blue as the midnight sky and twinkle twice as bright as any star' he knew that he was in trouble.

When he started wishing for Merlin's' presence at council meetings simply so there'd be someone there to look bored on his behalf, he knew he was in a _lot_ of trouble.

When Lord Geoffrey had put his slimy hand on Merlins shoulder and tried leading him away from the dinning hall Arthur felt something dark and ugly twisting in his gut, and he knew he was done for.

Merlin was a sorcerer, and a friend, and now…now he was something more, something new and they were in uncharted territory. Arthur did not like to admit it but he had panicked.

He'd seduced Merlin but in the aftermath he hadn't known what to do, not with this _feeling_ rattling around his chest. He can feel it growing with every backward glance.

It blazes to hot for contentment and happiness is to callow an expression whatever it is, he is, and he knows he has Merlin to thank for it – and if that thumping in his chest is love, well then whose he to argue.

And that is how he ended up alone in his bed after a good hour of fantastic shagging. Arthur Pendragon had gone to pieces in the soft lull that should have been afterglow when reality crashed down upon his shoulders like the proverbial weight of the kingdom.

Arthur closed his eyes and remembered.

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**AuthorNote: This is my first leap into the Merlin fandom, please let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

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_Arthur closed his eyes and remembered._

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It had been an ordinary day; one would think there would've been some grand lead up. Maybe begin the day he'd end up shagging _Merlin_, with a sorcerer reigning fire on the castle or a gryhphon or an ordinary assassin – just to spice things up – but no, nothing happened, at all.

Which left him with no excuse for his actions not that he needed them, he was a prince, _but really Merlin?_

Yes he was…charming in his naïve country bumpkin I-don't-know-my-place-and-I-say-what-I-think-even-if-I-shouldn't way.

And those stick-y out ears and dopey smiles that made him look touched in the head, and his eyes, nothing particular about them Arthur supposes, but they are so _blue_.

On a lady he might even consider them beautiful. But for all that he called him one Merlin was not a girl, no, Arthur never looked at girls like he looked at Merlin, but then, he didn't look at men the way he looked at Merlin either so he wasn't entirely sure where that left him.

The weather was passable and he was waiting for his manservant to arrive with food while he contemplated a hunting trip, there was a council meeting in an hour, _where were those bloody magical nuisances when you needed them?_

"Its not my fault" was the first thing Merlin blurted out when he shuffled through the door with the princes tray, "The cook was abed with the flu, and no one noticed until forks were all but rattling on the tables!" Arthur crossed his arms, "Very well" he said feeling magnanimous.

Arthur seated himself, and ate with one eye on his plate and the other on Merlin who was randomly picking things up and putting them in their place, feeling generous Arthur tossed an apple to him which he fumbled and ended up picking off the floor, "Thanks" he said plopping down on the side of Arthurs bed as he bit into it.

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Cant have you starving, your all skin and bones already people will start to think I don't feed you."

"You don't care what people think," Merlin said around a mouthful, blunt and honest as usual.

"True" he agreed, "But when I say people I mean Morgana and Gwen."

"Ah"

"Wipe that smirk from your face"

"Of course, sire."

"The red tunic or the black?" Merlin asked the apple in one hand the tunics in the other, his body half turned to the prince as he went through the cupboards, "Personally, I think the black makes you look a little to much like a bad omen, you can be intimidating enough without that."

Arthur absurdly felt like preening as the unintentional compliment, it's meaning doubled because Merlin hadn't even realized what he'd said, "Well, not to those that know you of course" he tacked on as an afterthought and Arthur wondered if that hadn't been intentional as he inwardly deflated, outwardly he growled "When did I ask your opinion?"

"You didn't," Merlin said with a faint twitch of his lips, "Sire."

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Very well, the red since I don't wish to have all the ladies fainting at my feet."

"That would be very annoying I'm sure, sire" Merlin tossing him the red tunic which Arthur caught and pulled on even though really that was part of Merlin's job, he didn't feel like having Merlin pawing at him this morning with a council meeting coming up.

"Don't forget to-"

"Exercise the dogs, clean the royal stables, mend your hunting coat which has a great gapping hole at the shoulder, shine your boots, tidy the room, groom your horse" Merlin said listing all his duties, "I swear Arthur you're going to have a hairless horse with all this grooming" he grumbled.

"Am I forgetting anything, sire?" he asked with a blasé look that Arthur knew enough to interpreted as _you-complete-prat_. "The halls are starting to look a little shabby, see to them after."

Arthur swept from the room with Merlin's gaze burning into the back of his head. He didn't feel guilty, not at all.

Alright, so the halls were perfectly clean but Merlin got under his skin with that _look_, and the way he said _sire_ and Arthur just knew he was thinking _prat-prat-prat_ and no, he wasn't being paranoid. He just knew Merlin that well, which was a daunting thought all on its own.

The council meeting was long and tedious and by the end very little had been decided and if he daydreamed a little no one noticed – he had it down to an art. Nodding and throwing out comments while his mind was a million miles away, or in this case just a couple. Gaius had sent Merlin to gather herbs south of the wall, he could hardly forbid his servant from going but that didn't stop the worry from plaguing him like a nag in the back of his thoughts.

The meeting adjourned and Arthur strode out with purpose; the weather was nice and he'd heard tell that the southern pasture was perfect for letting the horses run, Riothamus needed a good run.

It had nothing to do with Merlin.

The wind felt good, the pasture stretching out for aces as he drove Riothamus into a fast gallop the sent of the pines and the clear blue sky mellowed the edge to his mood, surely not even bumbling menservants could find trouble on a day such as this, and sure enough there was Merlin's lanky form in the distance and if the sun was glancing off his hair rather attractively Arthur took no notice, and if there seemed to be a hitch in his manservant's voice when he greeted him he told himself that it was merely surprise.

Arthur knew the picture he made gallivanting across the countryside, or his fathers pastures on Riothamus as the case may be, but Merlin was hardly likely to be noticing _that_.

He was endearingly clueless that way.

"I see you're enjoying this good whether" Arthur commented, "As are you, sire" Merlin pointed out and Arthur could hardly argue the point, after all he was.

"You've gathered what you need for Gaius?"

"Yes"

"Good."

Arthur held out a hand which Merlin looked at rather dubiously, to which Arthur was more than a little offended, "Well come on then, I'll give you a ride back to the castle."

"I'd rather not risk a head injury when I fall off the princes horse" Merlin said with a shake of his head, "I'm an excellent horseman, now give me your hand" Arthur commanded.

Merlin grabbed hold mumbling all the while, a muffled yelp and a bit of teetering – on Merlin's part – later and they were off the grassy knolls rushing by as Riothamus' hooves pounded across the earth. Merlin clung tight to his waist his nose brushing against Arthur's neck.

Merlin smelled pleasantly of pine and sage.

No one said anything when the prince rode through the gates with his manservant riding behind, sadly it was not a new occurrence, although usually the events precluding it were more dire.

Merlin all but fell from the saddle with his usual lack of grace, but when he turned to face him there was something new in his face. Something in his expression reminded Arthur of Morgana, right before she made a confession. Hers tended to be quite earth shattering so no one would blame him when he tended to avoid such things.

"There is a feast tonight, as you know, I'll expect you to attend" he said, just for something to say.

"Of course, so long a no ridiculous looking hats are involved" Arthur arched an eyebrow at the stipulation but didn't belabor the point that Merlin had to go, and if he so wished Arthur could make him wear said hat.

"Oh and Arthur" Merlin called out, "Thanks for the ride back."

"Couldn't have you kidnapped by bandit or some such" Arthur said gruffly as he stalked off into the practice field where he spent a good hour swinging at a hapless practice-dummy as he tried to exorcize himself of the thoughts he'd been having of late –thoughts of Merlin that left him hard and wanting.

_Merlin slippery and wet with the clean scent of river water as he knelt at Arthur's feet his eyes giving an open invitation as he swallowed down the princes length working him over with a wicked tongue, the hot wet heat of his mouth more than Arthur could stand. Arthur's hands twined through raven locks as he took what was freely given… _

Arthur snorted to himself, it was doubtful Merlin knew the first thing about shagging let alone how to do it with a man. Unfortunately that notion did little to cool his ardor.

Arthur dealt with Merlin's incompetent fumbling as he attempted to dress him for the up coming feast, and if Arthur's face was more pinched than was common afterward, he wisely held his tongue.

Morgana however had no such qualms.

"Loosen up Arthur, you look like someone stuck something up your royal robe" she muttered beneath her breath as they took their seats at the high table, she to Uthers left and Arthur to his right.

The feast was a grand affair, garlands hung along the archways o the halls and the table was bedecked with mouth-watering platters, spiced venison and sweet wine, pork and pheasant, all adorned the table like edible art. Nobles and ladies ate until Arthur felt sick on their behalf, and then they ate more, the lordling's and dandies all wearing there Sunday-finest, the ladies decked out in the latest fashions handing off the arms of there intended or husbands like ornaments, and then there were the unattached ladies that clearly had there sights set on the crown.

Of them all, Arthur thinks, he hates them the most.

To be sized up like a particularly delectable piece of roast pork is flattering for a while – when he blatantly ignores the fact that all they see is the crown prince and not the man – but wears on the nerves like bad swordplay and incompetence after any length of time.

But that is the lot he's stuck with as festivities like this, sycophants and liars speaking their half-truths to win his favor.

Arthur knows he prefers Merlin's blunt honesty; his idiotic ramblings. His manservants' gossiping even.

_"Well, I heard from the cooks daughter who heard it from the countess's lady in waiting that the widow Matilda is looking for a new younger husband"_ the conversation had once started, Arthur hadn't deigned to reply at the time, but he had listened feigning disinterest with a jaw popping yawn.

Castle gossip was brought into whole new appreciation when faced with these political schemers. When they said 'The grains of Camelot are prosperous indeed, your people are blessed to have such a resourceful leader!' they meant 'Our grain supplies are sadly lacking and I'm not above a bit of groveling and flattery to try and get my way.'

For example when Merlin said, 'One day you'll be a great king' he meant it, moreover when Merlin said it Arthur believed it.

It made him feel warm like a lazy afternoon in bed, like a divan of furs on a winter's night.

It was a feeling he wanted to explore, in depth. He wanted to know the curve of Merlin's lips against his mouth, the soft fumbling of his hands as he caressed, he wanted to feel the tremble of his body as he took him.

Arthur _wanted_ so badly that it was as if a fire burned beneath his skin.

The feast dragged into the midnight hours, the food carted away, and the courtiers milled about the halls, before the roaring fire of the dining hall Arthur immersed himself in recounting his deeds, throwing himself into it with a fervor in an effort to squelch the desire to drag Merlin off to some quiet alcove and have his way with him.

A lady hung off each arm, and some knights and lords gathered around hanging onto his every word. Maybe because they thought it might earn his favor, or maybe he was just that good. Arthur chose to think of it as the latter.

Uther watched from a distance with something like bemusement, and perhaps a small measure of pride shining in his eye, but he couldn't be sure the face of a king was hard to read.

Lady Matilda's was not.

She was batting her eyelashes at him; her pixie face titled up she listened raptly. He might as well have been serenading her with her gaze so intently upon his face!

"_She has nice eyes, and a nice curvy body…" _

Arthur imagined all the places where the curves were and felt only a mild interest rise.

_"Damn." _

Merlin had him under a spell that was the only explanation for this lack of interest in the fairer sex.

In all fairness, as of late his thoughts had involved a more lanky than curvy form, the hair shorter but far softer than hers which felt coarse and wiry as boars pelt.

Her eyes were lovely but they didn't shine when she smiled.

Arthur paused in his narration taking a swig of wine ignoring Morgana as she gave him the evil-eye from across the room where various hopefuls were attempting to entice her with poetry and music, if only they knew, the way to her heart was sword practice and women-breeches, not frivolous jewels – she already had enough to wear a different one every day for the rest of her life. Fools.

She was the Kings Ward, did they thing she went without?

Arthur drew his narration to a close burying his smirk as his audience went silent in awe. It was easy to awe these dandified courtiers with tales of his exploits, why then did Merlin refuse to be impressed? Not that he needed nor wanted the approval of a servant.

But still, a _little_ awe would have been nice.

Speaking of servants, Arthur peered around the mob surrounding him, now that he was done with his boasting, – as Merlin would likely call it – he began to feel a bit suffocated with all those respectful, judging eyes on him.

"Oh sire! Weren't you scared?" the woman on his right, Countess-Something-Or-Other, crooned her hand resting on his arm with a little too much familiarly.

Before Merlin he would have stepped back with a polite, but questioning, look that would have set her in place at once. Now it hardly fazed him.

"Of course not" the prince said shortly tolerating her touch until she realized her dainty little hand was on his-royal-highnesses person. The gallant Sir Orwin rushed to her rescue, having correctly interpreted the offended look on Arthur's face.

"My dear ladies, the prince here has surely battled all of the magical beasts and evil sorcerers in the kingdom!"

"What's one rag-tag bunch of bandits compared to that?" he laughed clapping Arthur on the shoulder. Arthur pasted on his best smile as she apologized so softly and sweetly he almost felt like a right ogre. Almost. The prince was vaguely surprised to note that the lovely Matilda had taken to batting her eyelashes at Sir Orwin the Gallant.

_Good riddance. _

Her eyes' were not that lovely. And on second appraisal she was rather pear-shaped in form. With a bodice such as hers she must be loose with her affections.

In any case, Merlin was lovelier than her, ears and all.

"Do you not like dark hair and sparkling eyes, sire?" a knight at his left hand courteously inquired, Arthur thinks its Sir Lucan but cant be sure, he's had a bit more wine than he should.

"I like dark hair and sparkling eyes just fine" Arthur snapped when he realized what the man was on about. He didn't want Matilda whose eyes sparkled all right but Arthur thinks its not merriment and mischief, it looks a bit more like entrapment lurking behind her soft doe eyes.

"_Well, I heard from the cooks daughter who heard it from the countess's lady in waiting that the widow Matilda is looking for a new younger husband." _

Merlin had said that hadn't he?

Arthur wondered if he should warn Orwin but feeling petty the prince decided to leave the man to his fate, all the while thanking God for Merlin's ridiculous gossip. Who'd of ever thought it would serve a purpose.

Seeing a flash of red amongst the flock of colors and a glimpse of raven hair Arthur extracts himself from the gaggles of ladies and lords with mumbled excuses, all his focus was on finding his manservant. All it took was a little wobble in his step and Merlin was suddenly at his side, as though he'd actually fall on his face!

"I think you'd best call it a night, Arthur, before you drink yourself into a stupor" Merlin muttered taking his arm to help steer him from the crowd.

"You've been watching me, eh?"

"Well, yeah" Merlin said honestly.

"Well it is part of your job, watching me, a perk some might even say" Arthur rambled clutching tighter to Merlin's shoulder than might have been necessary, leaning in a little closer, which he could blame on to much wine as his breath ghosted across his manservant's shoulder.

"Hm, well if one likes to watch princes throw themselves at ladies that only see a crown and not the man, the prat I might add, sure" Merlin agreed readily enough but there was something rigid behind the words that gave Arthur pause. _He likes me_, Arthur realized and something giddy and impulsive rushed through him.

Before his courage, which may or may not have something to do with the wine, passed he pushed Merlin up against the wall, his hands on either side of Merlins, effectively blocking him. They're so close they share the same breath, so close he could count every eyelash on Merlins face.

"I have a proposition for you" Arthur said, moving closer still.

"Arthur, sire, I'm not a girl-" Merlin protests feebly pushing at him, its not in earnest so Arthur ignores it.

"Proposition, not proposal you idiot" Arthur muttered his mouth quirking; Merlin was all hard lean angles, no curves here.

"And what is your proposition?" Merlin asked his breath thready and erratic as he held absolutely still.

Arthur leaned in a pressed a kiss to his mouth "This," he murmured nipping at that pale, pale throat relishing his servants surprised yelp, followed by a gasp as Arthur sucked, hard.

There would be a mark tomorrow.

"Oh"

"Oh? Is that all you have to say with a very handsome prince kissing you?" Arthur demanded with a pout that he would later deny upon pain of death. Merlin closed his eyes as though blocking out the sight of him would make this more bearable.

Arthur felt a pang of hurt sear through him, but he threw it aside, waiting.

"Well, said prince might be kind of handsome but he also happens to be very drunk" Merlin said wryly, his hand lightly tracing Arthur's mouth, the mouth he'd just kissed, then he snatched it back trying to pull away. Arthur wanted to whimper at the loss of touch, he didn't, but it was a close thing.

"I'll let you in on a secret" Arthur whispered pulling Merlin down the hallway, "I'm not a drunk as I made out."

Arthur watched in amusement as Merlins expressions shift from confused to flustered to, finally, something he thinks might be desire. Arthur wordlessly drags him down the halls ignoring the few servants and the odd looks they draw, all he knows is what he wants.

And right now what he wants is Merlin.

He's swinging open the doors to his chamber kicking it shut as he backs Merlin to the bed, sending him sprawling across it with a light push, Merlin is smiling this strange little smile Arthur's never seen before, it has a odd effect and Arthur feels like he's got a flock of butterflies in his stomach.

For a moment Arthur freezes, all his doubts clamoring about in his head but they are set aside when Merlin grins up at him from hooded eyes and unceremoniously grabs him by his shirt front and pulls him onto the bed, the end result is Merlin laid out beneath Arthur in far to many clothes.

First Arthur divests him of his tunic, and then he yanks down his breeches biting at the corner of his lip as the boy blushes right down to his knees. It's another quirk he files away for later. Right now his hands are desperate for skin and he just wants to _touch, feel, take_.

"You have to many clothes" Merlin muttered making short work of his doublet and shirt, in fact Arthur's quite sure he heard the snap of ties as he was helped from his breeches. He'd gone more than a little insane with lust; the glorious feel of skin on skin, Merlin warm and gasping alone almost had him coming like an untried youth.

Merlin's hands ghosted over him a hesitant feathery touch that made his pulse quicken and his body throb painfully.

Arthur could've throttled him. _He's never bothered with boundaries before, why now?_

He was kissing him as though there was no tomorrow, or he'd never done it before, but Arthur tolerated his sloppy clumsy kisses – who knew kisses could be clumsy?

But it didn't matter at all, Merlin was open and inviting and a surprisingly fast learner he found.

"Touch me," the prince growled between clenched teeth as fumbling hands dragging rough caresses down his back ghosting over the curve of his hips and back up to his face, touching every bit of him but the part he wanted hands on most.

Either he was clearly an inept idiot, or a horrible tease.

From the intense look of concentration he wore – brows scrunched up in what might be somewhat endearing and his cheeks flushed with either desire or embarrassment on this Arthur was assuming it was a strange mix of both – he was going to go with _idiot_.

_Patience-patience-patience_ was running through his head like a mantra when he found himself pushed back. His head only barely missing the bedpost as Merlin went down on him, and oh God that was so much better than hands, _and was that cutlery rattling?_

Arthur decided he didn't care; not when Merlin's mouth was _there_, and his tongue was doing something exquisitely painful as he licked a stripe up his length that left him thrusting helplessly and if he gripped Merlin's hair tighter than necessary he wasn't complaining. More mouth, more hands, more skin, he wanted everything Merlin had to give. But mostly he didn't want to come in his servants' mouth.

Well he did, he really, really did but he wanted to bugger the boy senseless more.

"No, no more" Arthur whispered and if his voice cracked a little, ragged at the edges no one could blame him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sire" Merlin muttered his cheeks flushing darkly, "What?" Arthur grumbled in a fine confusion, _now the servant was calling him by his proper title? _

Arthur grabbed him by the arm and hauled him closer before he could back up any farther. Knowing Merlin he'd fall and crack his head and give himself a concussion. Really, it was just in his best interest to keep the boy conscious.

"My name is Arthur, say it," the prince murmured his lips sucking hard at the porcelain skin at the boys neck, there'd be a bruise tomorrow.

Merlin was looking at him like he was the daft one, but he said it, his name a soft puff of air against his cheek.

It seemed he'd quite forgotten any other words as he said it again.

The prince had him pinned to the bed, knobby knees on either side of him heels digging into the small of his back as he rocked, gently then more firmly, kissing and nipping as they became a tangle of hands and legs, his name breathed out like a benediction into the otherwise silent room.

_Merlin_, became a question and a plead all wrapped up on two syllables as Arthur kissed him thoroughly, kissing him until there teeth clacked – it was harsh and desperate and he couldn't get enough. Reading his silent question, reading _him_, Merlin nodded sharply and there was his name again, and it said things like trust, and friendship and a hint of something more…

_"Or maybe that's just me" _Arthur silently admitted but tossed the thought aside, if Merlin didn't want him like Arthur wanted Merlin he'd make him, he had charm, he had qualities…he could make him love him if he wanted, how hard could it be?

Merlin did want him, right here and now, and that was enough.

It was enough as he grabbed the oil from the nightstand using it liberally dampening his fervor enough to slow the frenzied pace. Firsts were meant to be slow and gentle and all those other girlish things.

It was enough to have Merlin wrapped around him like a living blanket staring up at him with that odd daft look in his eye, the one that made that peculiar feeling in Arthurs' chest surge tightly.

It was enough to be able to run a hand across angular cheekbones and over soft lips and leave a trail of caresses down the length of his body hands sliding into the curve of his arse.

"Please, Arthur" Merlin panted, as though he had no idea what his voice did to him all roughed over and pleading want and need and longing burning hot in his blue, blue eyes.

He could write a sonnet for those eyes alone, and for his lips, and even his ridiculous ears…

"Arthur" Merlin gasped pulling the prince down for another searing kiss that left his lips tingly and Arthur forgot all about sonnets and ears at the sweaty slick slide of skin on skin as Merlin rocked up into his touch, and he wanted more.

"More" he demanded, _and of course Merlin would be a demanding lover wouldn't he? _Not that Arthur minded particularly, or at all really.

The prince complied hands sliding under Merlin's arse and lifting, ankles locking around his back Merlin arching into his touch in a manner than left Arthur panting for more, the tip of him nudging in. Merlin met him full thrust, taking him deeper, harder, and he couldn't swallow the small whimper that escaped him at the incredible, exquisite tightness, like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

He lifted Merlin higher and leaned forward slightly, burying himself to the hilt in Merlin's body and sweet mother of god, was he virgin tight as Arthur took him deep and slow each thrust winding them higher and higher, pleasure hitting a blinding peak Arthur came with a horse shout, and if he groggily thinks the chair was spinning on its axis, in a pleasure induced stupor he decides maybe the wine had been stronger than he'd suspected.

Merlin was grasping him tight his grip stronger than Arthur might've expected but not unpleasantly so, Merlin's breath was hitching beautifully over the syllables of his name, _Arthur. _

That's about when the prince noticed in a bleary afterthought that the whole dame chamber was glowing a radiant gold. _Oh bloody hell_, apparently Merlin was a sorcerer.

"_No, just a little bit magic,"_ he decided and promptly let the matter lie, it didn't suite to dwell on it, least of all when he had half a mind to forget he knew anything at all and have another go at Merlins skinny, but improbably delectable, arse. So Arthur lay there panting, his room faintly glowing and Merlin lazing at his side – hazy eyes and oblivious.

Merlin was magic, and Arthur didn't care and that feeling in his chest was stirring, words lying on the tip of his tongue – powerful dangerous – words that were fighting to escape.

They were words he was not ready to say, might never be able to and so he sealed his lips and deiced in a very unprincely panic that Merlin had to go right this instant, leave, and be somewhere that isn't here – he ignored the way something cold and empty rises at the thought – because this is all just a pleasant dream and in the morning Merlin wont be a sorcerer and he, Arthur Pendragon wont be in love.

Princes couldn't go around falling in love with their servants, especially not male ones. Especially not ones like Merlin.

"Merlin" Arthur grumbled poking his servant in the ribs, "Merlin" he tried again pushing more determinedly and if the boy actually tumbled from the bed in a undignified heap on the floor it wasn't Arthur fault he was a clumsy fool – and if there was a sheer of hurt in his eyes that wasn't his fault either.

"Do be sure you're not late tomorrow morning, and Merlin do at least try to bring my breakfast before its completely chilled" Arthur said in his more imperious tone and if Merlin floundered for a moment before storming from the room – almost forgetting his clothes in his fit – Arthur pretended he didn't care.

It was for the best. _Really._

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**AuthorsNote: _Read and Review please!!! Thanks!_**


	3. Chapter 3

And that is how the prince found himself alone in bed, cursing himself, and Merlin and that feeling that would not go away, a dully-throbbing ache that seized control of his chest.

Merlin hadn't shown up the next morning seeing as how he'd contracted a sudden ailment according to the chambermaid – Arthur wondered how he'd charmed her into lying to royalty.

"_Sudden ailment my ass," _he thought with no little petulance.

And thus when Arthur's breakfast arrived on time, piping hot in fact. There was naught for him to complain about. So it was the next day, and the day after that until Arthur resigned himself to exemplary service and hot meals that were always, always on time.

So much for the guilty pleasures of late afternoon lie-ins, which he'd naturally, blamed rubbish menservants for.

In the days to follow Arthur had exemplary servants attending all his needs – minus the most pressing one leading in a decidedly southern direction. A prince could hardly importune a maid, or stable boy for that matter.

Life went on as it always had in Camelot for a good while before Arthur reached the end of his tether, another demure _"yes sire, but of course sire"_ and he was going to send the chambermaid from the room in tears, honestly how many 'sires' were needed in one sentence?

Apparently too many according to Mary's stuttering sentences that made less sense than Merlin's babble…

As for Thomas the Bootlicker as he'd been dubbed well, that one didn't even bear thinking on. He was so unlike Merlin that every time Arthur looked at him he thought Merlin.

_Merlin would never do this, or why can't I make Merlin do that. _Or every so often_, I think I'd prefer Merlin's rubbish help than this cool efficiency, _and so on.

Arthur had no idea how this came about.

It made no sense. He was fast becoming an idiot, it would seem.

This is when the prince manned up and decided there were worse things to face than an angry or upset Merlin, and by the end of the day he'd have Merlin mucking out his stalls and scrubbing his floors – which had nothing to do with privately admiring the view from behind – or there'd be hell to pay.

Which is exactly when Merlin popped up again, all to-wide smiles and empty worded _'yes, sires, no sires'_ that made Arthur wished to rattle him until he said something like he would've before.

At first he went along with it, but two days in and Merlin was still acting odd, he hadn't called him prat even once and Arthur had been striving for Prat of Camelot just to get a rise from his manservant.

But it had all proven pointless. Apparently this new Merlin couldn't be baited, which was no fun at all.

Arthur had been prepared for an angry Merlin, or even an upset Merlin, but not this nothing is amiss, I'll-just-go-shine-your-boots-_sire_ Merlin.

Arthur was more than a little bewildered; enough that he dared the counsel of Morgana who sniffed disdainfully down her aristocratic nose at him and bluntly said 'it seems that he's being the bigger man' and left him to his own devices.

"_Loads of help that was, not." _

He missed the constant rattle of chatter that had before grated on his nerves like a badly played lyre. He missed the occasional mishap that landed pitchers of wine, and occasionally Merlin, in his lap.

Although the latter he'd not minded as much as he made out.

He even found himself wishing for that god awful ill tuned humming, and the barely-cleaned state of his rooms – they were so spotless he worried his mere presence would muddy them nowadays – he hated the dull _as-you-wish-sire_ servants that said My Lord without the glaring connotation of prat tacked on at the end.

He wished for the fool who knew how to make him laugh and wore silly hats just to make him smile after a dressing down from Uther. But essentially he just missed Merlin with his honest eyes and dopey smiles.

His manservant had become, well his _manservant_, and he decided he didn't like it.

But he could hardly order Merlin to be Merlin, now could he.

His manservant kept the rooms spotless and the royal stalls pristine, he filled his goblet and kept it filled without spilling a drop, not a single drop!

He was well aware how bizarre it was to complain about good service but Merlin was an odd fellow and this person who carried out Arthur's every wish and whim with a perfunctory _"yes, sire, of course sire"_ which didn't translate to _"you great prat" _wasn't his Merlin.

It was time to face the music and do what he aught have done in the first place. Which is how he ended up here knocking viciously on the physicians door, as though it had wronged him in some grievous way.

The door flung open and Merlins head peaked out taking in Arthur his expression unreadable. Yet another thing to add to Arthur's list of _Things-I-Don't-Like-About-This-Merlin_.

"Did you need something Arth-" Merlin stopped short with a grimace as though his name alone had become repugnant; Arthur refused to let that bother him. Mostly.

"Did you need something, sire?" Merlin repeated and while he wasn't glaring or freezing the prince with his words, it was clear he had other, better, things to do than have Prince Arthur gawking at him from the doorway.

"Well?" Merlin tacked on before the silence could draw to long, and there was enough of the old Merlin in there to give Arthur hope.

"Forgive me" Arthur grated out between clenched teeth, his words more a command than a request and he knew exactly what Merlin was thinking when his face clouded over "_fetch me my armor, gather my hunting gear, attend me at the feast" _therefore when the door slammed in his face he was prepared for it.

Expecting it even, one might say.

It stung his pride, he was man enough to admit that, and it did make his gut clench like anticipation before a horrid council meeting he knew was going to go topside, but it also loosened the knot in his belly. This was more like Merlin. After all, how many servants dared slam a door in their princes' face?

Lord help him, it was actually refreshing after being subjected to Mary's and Thomas's for week upon week.

Never one to give in easily Arthur knocked again, and kept at it until his knuckles bled and he could hear Gaius harping at Merlin to open the bloody door.

This time when it was swung open and Merlin peered out at him resignedly like a distasteful chore to be borne, he heartily wished it had remained firmly shut.

"Okay, sire, here's how it is. Last night was a horrible mistake, obviously, and being tossed from a bed like a bloody whore is not exactly fun and even less fun is slinking back to my chambers with my clothes only just on, for which I'm now the butt of all the servants wagging tongues" Merlin paused taking a breath, Arthur watching in fascination as color rose up in his cheeks, no wonder Merlin was pissed at him.

"_Merlin is no whore"_ was the first though to flirt through his mind, _"I'll have the tongue of any who says otherwise" _was the second.

He sure had cocked this one up, hadn't he? By all the gods he loved the idiot, and here he'd apparently treated him like a sordid fling.

"_Damn."_

"We both know you're rubbish at apologies" Merlin was saying with this, not adorable definitely not adorable, _silly_ smirk that did things to that space in his chest, he wanted to kiss it off his face. Which was not at all doable given the situation at hand. He settled for remembering when he had.

"Yes, the last time I attempted to apologize to Morgana she stuck me with her hair pin" Arthur deadpanned, secretly pleased to startle a laugh from Merlin.

"A hair pin, really?"

"Yes"

Merlin nodded, "That explains a lot actually" he muttered then shrugged with an affable smile loosing some of that seriousness that did not belong on his face.

"Right then, I'll say "Merlin I'm sorry" you nod your regal head and we go back to how we were before this mess" Merlin explained his eyes shining suspiciously.

Arthur inclined his head, in what he imagined was a regal fashion and was taken aback when the boor began to close again, far slower this time but he would have none of that as he wedged his foot between and forcefully shouldered it open.

He chose to ignore Gaius and his puzzled expression as he turned his attention on Merlin who was looking at Arthur as though he was forgetting something pivotal, and a daft fool to boot.

"Merlin" he drawls out in such a way that his servants name becomes a command, and if there's the hint of pleading in there he'll deny it later.

"What do you want from me Arthur?" Merlin asked crossing his arms as he eyes Arthur like one might a pacing lion. He hadn't been going for intimidating today, hence no black.

_But he was using my name, which has to be a good sign, right?_

"A repeat of that night, that's what I want" he blurted out before he could stop himself, the thought of another of those nights alone had him hard with wanting.

"Without the bit where I behave like the King of all Prats and kick you out in the morning" he finishes never taking his eyes off of Merlin who is looking strait back, _finally._

No ducking, or skirting or avoiding his gaze like a good servant. A considering, hopeful, look crossed the other mans face and he knows he said something right.

"I see what this is about"

"You do?"

"You're perfect servants are boring you aren't they?" Merlin queries a gleam shining his eye.

"Deathly dull, bootlickers the lot of them" Arthur says without missing a beat, his tone grave as his hands come to rest on his manservant's shoulder.

"Well someone's got to save you from the bootlickers I suppose" Merlin said with a little half-smile that had Arthur feeling giddy with relief, "Yes, please."

"You are aware I'm still an atrocious servant, ask my master" Merlin said as he followed Arthur out the door, "Being a fantastic lover makes up for being an atrocious servant" Arthur murmured softly enjoying the way Merlin blushes bright red and stumbles tripping over thin air.

Arthur righted him and dragged him into his room slamming the door shut behind.

His blood was rushing madly in his veins and he had half a mind to demand if Merlin was responsible for this, by magical means, not the obvious. The other half told him to shut up and enjoy it, and he did - _vigorously_ – as he draped Merlin across the table, and what a feast he was with a flush riding high on his cheekbones, lust burning in his eyes – his beautiful, _blue _eyes – as he stared up at him trustingly, that daft grin on his face, a daft grin that Arthur kissed with relish feeling the curve of Merlin's smile against his lips.

"You do have a perfectly good bed you know" Merlin gasps as Arthur flicks a nipple wrenching a soft moan from well-kissed lips, Arthur loves the sounds he makes.

In this he is pliant and trusting beneath him and he could do anything at all – and Merlin would let him. There's a heady power in that knowledge.

"I know" is all he says swallowing the oaths and vows his traitorous tongue wishes to spout.

Merlin doesn't mention it again fitting his mouth over the curve of Arthur's neck and nipping gently as he grinds their cocks together in an off-beat rhythm sweat beating on the base of his spin where Arthur's questing hands rest fitting them close together.

Arthur grabbed the silly red neckerchief Merlin always wore and tugged pulling in him to a deep kiss, the slightest scraping of teeth.

Merlin flails for balance jostling the table and sending the, previously unnoticed, pitcher of wine splashing onto the floor. Merlin mutters a breathy "sorry" as though Arthur's of the mind to even care with Merlin hot and aroused beneath him.

He's much more interested in getting the other man naked, than a bit of spilled wine.

"Idiot" he murmurs while his heart is declaring _'love you'_ with every beat.

The words tangle in his throat and he cannot voice them so he settles for divesting Merlin of his tunic hands scrabbling at the hem, suddenly clumsy in their haste, trying to work it off, which would've gone better if it didn't leave Merlin in a tangle of sleeves and neckerchief.

Arthur keeps at it, pulling and yanking, all the while he pressed wet kisses against every inch of pale skin that passes near enough to reach, and when Merlin finally collapses flushed and tunic-less on the table, Arthur cheers with unabashed delight before starting on the breeches.

Boots come before breeches rather than the other way around, they learn, although Arthur could've told Merlin so to begin with.

But it allows him to whisper "Idiot" against the hollow of his throat and know he means _'love you'_ so its tolerable.

There's more yanking and tugging and pulling, and in between there's time for banter and the deep, deep kisses that suck all the breath from his body and leaving him panting for more.

When the last article of clothing is gone and its just Arthur and Merlin the rest of the world fades to black like a distant reality and all that exists is them and the desire thrumming through there bodies, and the sweet ache in the princes chest – he's long since decided that its acceptable if he can have Merlin like this.

Abruptly Merlin's gone rigid and Arthur's perplexed until a thought occurs to him that hadn't before. He waits patiently listening to Merlin's babble.

"I, um, Arthur there's something I need to tell you" Merlin says slowly and he's watching Arthur carefully now, and he understand, really, that because he is the prince this is a dangerous subject – but mostly he's just glad Merlin's _telling_ him.

"I, well, what I mean is I never wanted to lie to you, and I've never hurt you, I swear on my mothers life Arthur" Merlin vowed and he was getting more and more troubled with each passing second.

Arthur could feel the anxiety right through his skin and he wanted more than anything to be noble – just this once – and drop this ruse and he would, anything to make this apprehension go away, but for the fact that Merlin _needed_ to tell him on his own.

_He_ needed Merlin to tell him.

"Spit it out, Merlin" he says, at his most commanding. A little nudge wouldn't hurt, and apparently it was exactly what his manservant needed.

"Well, I'm a bit magic" he blurted and cringes, Arthur smiles and kisses him in reward, "Was that so hard?"

"You knew?"

"Merlin, the last time we made love the cutlery was rattling, rattling Merlin. And I think the chair was spinning on its axis" Arthur clarified enjoying how Merlin's face cleared and he had this bizarre little smirk on his face, "Made love?" he parroted.

Arthur blushed crimson right down to his roots, "Shut up."

"Now, unless you have more confessions to make, can I kiss you?" he asks taking Merlin's squeak, and it was a squeak, as yes.

"There is this one other thing," Merlin pants diverting Arthur's attention from Merlin's neck, he bit down slightly in warning before letting go.

Couldn't he see Arthur was trying to shag him senseless here? And really, why couldn't he shut up? Oh right, because he's Merlin.

"That thing with Sophia. I never got the drop on you, that was my magic" Merlin mutters against his jaw, "Now that makes sense" Arthur chuckles distracting Merlin from all his talk by taking his length in hand and giving it an experimental tug that has his lover glassy eyed and panting.

"Are you done now?" he asks affecting a bored tone paring it with his best commanding look – he learned from the best – and slides himself tight between Merlin's thighs, hiking his legs up with a few expert maneuvers.

"Yeah, done talking. Can you shag me now, please?"

Arthur laughs bemusedly drawing it out until Merlin is shuddering and pleading from his touch alone, coming undone with each stroke of his hand.

"By the Gods Merlin, I want to pleasure you until you cant remember your name, have you a clue what you do to me?" Arthur growled as Merlin whimpered at the loss of his touch, he could barely string two words together and yet he was chanting Arthur's name over and over like it was the answer to some great enchantment.

From the periphery of his vision he saw the cutlery begin its dance anew, the pitcher had fixed itself as it twirled amid air, he sent a quick prayer that the table still had all four pegs firmly on the floor.

Arthur enters him quick and deep holding tight to his desires lest he come before he's even begun.

Merlin's warm and tight around him meeting him thrust for thrust as their bodies press together. Merlin's breath, and his name ghosting over his skin like a feathery caress that leaves a trail of feverish skin in its wake.

Arthur's hands are splayed across his hips holding tight as he rocks into him deeper and deeper, and the pleasure rolls through them like an explosion of sensations.

Merlin's grabbing him tight and tugging him closer, deeper still and the world whites out for a moment and he's vaguely aware that the tables begun wobble precariously but he's to far gone to care.

He opens his eyes, never realizing he'd ever closed them to find two blue eyes watching him, dazed but definitely happy and so fucking blue that Arthur swears he could drown in them.

Arthur pulls out carefully, his smile broadening at Merlin's mewled protests.

Deciding its time to take this to the actual bed, the perfectly good one Merlin had mentioned before he had decided to ravish his servant on his table.

Arthur stumbles over dragging a boneless Merlin along, but the bed is cold which is doubled by there sweaty almost feverishly hot skin and Arthur grumbles about rubbish manservant's and Merlin mutters about princes and prats his eyes heavy with sleep, and so Arthur only just catches the tail end of a few whispered words before the fireplace is roaring and the room is pleasantly warm.

Honestly, it's exactly how Arthur prefers it, and Merlin is sound asleep at his side, _what more could a man ask for?_

Arthur drifts to sleep with memories of their lovemaking emblazoned in his mind. Lulled by gentle breaths Arthur's dreams flit between romantic notions to hunting and tourneys, griffons and hydras.

He is beset by images of raging fires and blood-spattered battlefields and they would've left him with a sense of impending doom save for on the sidelines of it all stands Merlin a gold fire burning in his eyes while he holds the world, cradled in the palm of his hand.

The nighttime imaginings fade away like wisps on the wind all half remembered nonsense but for the image of Merlin he will carry long after waking, tall and slim his raven hair backlit by fire that cast a halo about his head as he sent fire upon Camelot's enemies.

Arthur watched as his lover sleeps, gracelessly sprawled across his chest his lean limbs hopelessly entangled with his own, and privately thinks to himself that maybe Merlin and Morgana were right about this one small thing.

Maybe he is a little too arrogant, because in those dreams Merlin lays the world at his feet.

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**AuthorsNote: _Thanks for the reviews, they are treasured!_**


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